Harry Potter and the Unspeakable Truth
by HMS Possibility
Summary: If you could change the past, would you? Harry Potter certainly would. It might take a few tries to get it right though... Slash (eventually), time travel.
1. Chapter 1

This is a work of fan fiction (sadly fiction, although I would live there if I could) using (awesome) characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. All characters in this work were created and are owned by J.K. Rowling, and I wish I could claim ownership over them or the world of Harry Potter, but I can't, so I won't.

CHAPTER ONE

 _The Man who failed at Living_

Mr and Mrs Potter, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, were proud to say that they were perfectly happy, thank you very much. Well, at least _Mrs_ Potter was. Mr Potter on the other hand was more likely to claim contentedness. Or at the _very_ least, Mr Potter could be heard on occasion proclaiming that "this was as good as it gets". Mrs Potter often didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or not, but frequently chose the former as the latter would require far too much stress and upheaval for her liking.

Mr Potter was an Auror working for the Ministry of Magic, which mostly involved tracking down petty criminals and somewhat shady characters since the 'Big Bads' had either fallen or fled in the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War. He was averagely sized, well-toned man with just the right amount of neck, and he had never been able to grow much in the way of moustaches. Mrs Potter was also averagely sized, though her lithe Quidditch honed body had rounded somewhat in the years since retiring from the sport professionally. Her once vivid red hair had dimmed somewhat and was strewn with liberal amounts of grey – a fact she wholeheartedly blamed on her husband. The Potters had no children and it was most assuredly _not_ because of a lack of trying; Mrs Potter assured their friends of this on a regular basis.

Mrs Potter had everything she wanted. Mr Potter had a secret. His greatest fear was that somebody – especially Mrs Potter – would discover it. He didn't think he would bear it if anyone (she) found out about his unhappiness. At least not until he had discovered the source of it for himself; what could be done about it anyway until he knew precisely what the problem was? In fact, Mr Potter pretended he was perfectly happy, because unhappiness was as unWeasleyish as it was possible to be. Not while everything was seemingly idyllic in their lives – "what could be the matter with him?" they would say, astonished at his lack of gratitude for his situation.

When Mr and Mrs Potter woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that stressful and upheaval-inducing things would soon be happening within their very own home. Mr Potter sighed as he picked out his most exciting pair of socks for work (the only item available for customisation) and Mrs Potter gossiped away happily as she planned for her day training the newest Holyhead Harpies recruits.

Neither of them noticed a head peek briefly out of the fireplace before retreating swiftly from whence it came.

At half past eight, Mr Potter picked up his wand, pecked Mrs Potter on the cheek and steeled himself for another day of mind-numbing paperwork followed by a brief chase around some hamlet in Northern England chasing some semi-acquaintance of Mundungus Fletcher, before heading to the Floo. He stepped into the grate and took a last look at the scene before him. Grimly, he shouted "Ministry of Magic!" before disappearing in swirl of green flames.

It was in the Atrium of the Ministry that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – an unusual amount of dread churning through his insides at the thought of continuing on his journey to the office he shared with Ron Weasley. It wasn't the thought of Ron that was the problem, he thought idly was he rode the lift down to Level Two (Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services). No, it was the job he realised abruptly. At Hogwarts, the dream being an Auror had seemed the pinnacle of excitement and daring, the obvious next step in his life-long fight against evil and the Dark Arts. Upon experiencing the reality however, Mr Potter was forced to accept that his prior involvement in said fight with evil was far more interesting and adventure filled than any job the Ministry could provide for him – even that period in the tent he had tried unsuccessfully to push out of his brain altogether.

This wasn't the only source of his dissatisfaction with the job though; he knew that really, when it came down to it, he just wasn't all that interested in fighting evil anymore. Mr Potter sincerely felt that his contribution to that aspect of the world was paid in full – overpaid if anything. It was something he had realised shortly after completing his training, but he had felt that the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction in seeing a hard job well done would be enough to ensure his interest for many years to come. That, sadly, was proving to not be the case.

The cool voice announced his arrival at Level Two and upon stepping out, Mr Potter was surprised to find he had half decided to actually _do_ something about his situation, when his attention was abruptly and rather rudely diverted by a group of Unspeakables whispering ominously (although Mr Potter wasn't entirely sure that Unspeakables could communicate in a way that wasn't ominous, so it wasn't absolute proof that their topic was of a dire nature) and heading straight towards him, jostling him as they passed by and into the lift.

"Potter, that's right, that's who they've chosen_"

"_yes, his wife, Ginevra_"

Mr Potter stopped dead. Anger flooded him. He glared back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He walked steadily onto his office, and sat rather crossly down in his chair. The Unspeakables had undoubtedly seen him leaving the lift and had sought to rile him up for whatever reason. Probably they had a bet on in the ongoing pool on when Mr Potter was likely to snap and destroy his office again – his temper was notoriously short these days – and were attempting to induce such an event to garner a win. Mr Potter satisfied himself, for the most part, with this explanation and settled down for a morning of filling in form after form, concerning the latest arrests of criminals whose crimes included the rather serious charge of Floo tampering to the somewhat less impressive Knut counterfeiting.

The incident played on his mind however, and he found it a lot harder to concentrate on Knuts that afternoon. When he left his office at five o'clock, he was still so distracted that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he gasped, feeling somewhat chagrined – and winded – at having someone lurking directly in front his office door. It was a few seconds before Mr Potter realised that the man was wearing an Unspeakables uniform. He didn't seem apologetic about his inconvenient lurking, or about the fact that Mr Potter was still clutching his stomach, OR about the fact that he had provided the very sharp elbow that had wedged itself underneath Mr Potter's ribcage. On the contrary, he face curled inwards into a rather sinister smile and he said in a silky voice that made Mr Potter's insides do a little wiggle in reminiscence of his old Potions professor,

"Don't be sorry for the inevitable, Mr Potter, be sorry for that which is seemingly immutable but may have once been entirely different. Even one as… _narrow_ as you should rejoice this day, as the means to alter those unassailable facts has been discovered. It just so happens that it is this very subject that has brought me to your door."

Mr Potter stared at him for a long moment, his mind working furiously through it all before shrugging both mentally and physically, and walking off.

"Perhaps it is not yet the moment Mr Potter. I will remain vigilant in anticipation of the shift – it cannot be too far in our future after all."

Mr Potter continued on his way, without looking back. He had been verbally accosted by an Unspeakable. He also thought he had been offered an opportunity to change things about his life. Given the tone of his thoughts only that very morning, he was rattled. Hurrying to the Floos in the Atrium, hoping for something but not sure quite what, he failed to notice the same group who had jostled him at the lift, following his every moment with great interest from the shadows.

As he arrived in the kitchen at Grimmauld place, the first thing he saw – and it didn't improve his mood – was Ginny's training gear spread across the entire length of the table. Given that the table seated fifteen on a good day, this was no mean feat.

"Ginny!" shouted Mr Potter loudly.

He didn't hear his wife making a move and as he eyed the remnants of her day laid before him, he decided it wasn't going to move without some effort on his part. Pulling himself together, shuffled around the protruding broomsticks and waved his wand negligently, causing the whole lot to pile up at the very end of the table where it remained, teetering precariously.

Sighing deeply, Mr Potter moved to the kettle and filled it, gazing out at the small yard and musing over the unusual occurrences that had befallen him that day. It wasn't that nefarious plots were unfamiliar to him, it was just that one hadn't arisen in over fifteen years. More quickly than he would ever admit to his wife, he decided that he would keep the events to himself for the time being. It wasn't as if any of it made sense, or was even likely to be important. No, it was all better left alone and forgotten.

The piercing whistle of the kettle snapped him abruptly out of his reverie and at that very moment, Mrs Potter entered the kitchen and tutted loudly at the pile of equipment still creaking in its place and agreed that a brew would be just the thing. Why this should irritate Mr Potter was unclear, but irritate him it did. Mrs Potter had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about their Seeker's problems with performing the Wronski Feint and how the team manager had hinted that she might receive a pay rise if the rest of the season went as well as it had been going. When the last of the food had been packaged away for lunches and the dishes had been done, he went in to the living room and turned on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

It was the usual mindless drivel interspersed with Celestina Warbeck he had come to expect from his evening forays into wizarding entertainment, but it was comforting nonetheless. Perhaps the simple routine of sitting and listening was what was comforting, rather than the questionable content of the audio he mused, rolling his glass of Firewhisky and stretching his neck.

Mrs Potter entered then with a contented hum and placed her feet directly in front of Mr Potter's face, thereby blocking his glass's path from hand to mouth. Wiggling her toes, she indicated what her current needs were and groaning internally, he took the rather pungent pair in his hands and proceeded to knead out the tension gathered from a hard day's flying. What he wouldn't have given to have been in her place, he thought has he ran his thumbs firmly along the arch of each foot in turn. Endless sky and wind whipping through his hair – utter freedom while he was anchored to his desk, without even a real window. He couldn't blame her for his own choices of course, but he couldn't help but feel jealous of her vocation while at the same time regretting his own.

Rubbing more firmly and making a conscious effort to concentrate on the task at hand, Mr Potter wondered when he had begun to resent his wife. Both the act of rubbing her admittedly deserving feet and her very company was causing him more and more discomfort as the years went by. He thought hard, but couldn't recall a recent occasion when he had simply enjoyed _being._ Both with his wife and on his own, he spent more time than not wallowing in regrets and cooking up half-baked plans to change every single thing about his life.

A low purr of pleasure issued from his wife's lips as he increased the pressure and looking into her eyes, he saw a familiar expression of beckoning to the bedroom.

Right then, at that very moment, he decided. Something would have to change.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

 _The Vanishing Man_

Harry Potter was a practical man. He took what life gave him and made the best of it – he always had. He often wondered however, what his life would have been like it he hadn't _gone with the flow_ so much. His life had become much more reactionary since his adventure with the Philosopher's Stone in first year, he thought as he took the familiar route from the Ministry's Floos to his office. With a shudder, he calculated that this bout of autonomy and action had transpired over twenty years ago; had he been sleep walking ever since?

The more he thought about it, everything he had done after that time had been either as a result of some malignant force seeking him out, or on someone else's orders. How much of his existence was as a part of someone else's plan? Frowning to himself, Harry didn't look up as he left the lift and strode purposefully forward once again in to the waiting elbow of his Unspeakable stalker.

"Ahh, Mr Potter. I'm so very glad to see that the time is now right for our… transaction to occur. If you would follow me."

The last part of this statement was called over his shoulder to a doubled over Harry, who quickly straightened and jogged to catch up. Although he couldn't be certain, Harry thought that this man had an opportunity he was willing to offer him – something in the way of change. This was a very interesting proposition to Harry at that moment, who wanted nothing more than to reverse almost every aspect of his life.

His friends weren't so bad, he supposed. Ron and Hermione had long since settled down and multiplied a whole host of scarily clever, ferociously ginger and heartily mischievous children. As such, Harry only really saw Ron at the office and Hermione almost never. She had developed an excellent career in the Wizarding charitable sector, helping house elves and werewolves and whoever else needed her to find a place in their society.

But his friends really weren't what was making Harry sad. He realised that he was… _lonely._ Again, the remonstrations he would receive from every person he knew if he were to claim such a thing ran through his head and he winced. It wasn't that he didn't like Ginny. He liked her well enough; but to be married to someone – forever mind you – and all you can say about them is that you like them _well enough_! That was what really made Harry continue on behind this mysterious Unspeakable. He didn't even know this guy's name!

"Sorry but, who are you?"

"That, Mr Potter, is a tale for another day. For now, you may call me… a friend."

That made Harry raise one eyebrow is what might be called a 'highly sceptical manner'. The glimmer of hope he'd been offered kept him following along however, and after a brief shrug he did just that.

"And, what exactly is this… transaction you are referring to?"

"Ah! All will be revealed Mr Potter. We are on our way to _my_ office this time. My friends and I are very keen to get the ball rolling so to speak, but we need to be sure that this remains confidential. Talking about such matters in the halls of the Ministry are a sure way to get the whole operation deemed too much of a risk, and therefore unviable. Patience, Mr Potter, is therefore advised."

This being the most that his mysterious 'friend' had ever said, Harry was momentarily brought to silence as he mulled over what he had been told. If this man didn't want others hearing his plans for Harry, were said plans illegal? Dangerous? Might he get killed, or worse, fired?! Sniggering to himself as he recalled a similar tirade from his absentee friend, Harry contented himself with the knowledge that regardless of what this man had planned for him, it was definitely going to be more exciting that what he had occupied his time with thus far.

A rather awkward lift ride to Level Nine (Department of Mysteries, the cool voice announced) later and Harry was being led into a rather spacious office suite, complete with brushed leather couches and a complicated looking fish tank. Feeling a bit miffed at the glorified broom closet space he shared with Ron, Harry took a seat on the comfortable couch and awaited his fate.

He had no idea how prescient that thought really was.

The Unspeakable spoke. Rather quietly mind; Harry had to lean forward as if in anticipation just to hear him.

"Mr Potter. You have come to our attention as the perfect candidate for a little, ah, experiment of ours here in the Department of Mysteries. We have kept our collective eyes on you and your situation for quite some time."

"You've been watching me?" Harry asked, indignant.

"We had to be sure, you understand Mr Potter. We couldn't risk engaging the wrong candidate, only to have our work go wasted and unused. No, we are quite sure that you are the right fit for our experiment."

"And just what, exactly, makes you think that?"

"I will answer that question Mr Potter if I may, with a question of my own. Do you have any regrets in this life? Things you wish you had done differently? I know that most people have a few small regrets – it is almost impossible to pass through life without accumulating a handful. You on the other hand, Mr Potter, regret almost every aspect of your existence. Apart from the fact that you are alive and breathing, you would gleefully grasp any opportunity to change it all. Is that not a fact?"

Harry was stunned. Could this man… read his mind? He worked furiously to think of something innocuous and found himself unhelpfully reliving a rather rude fantasy he thought he had under lock and key in the far reaches of his brain. There was no way such a position was even… Stop! He thought frantically. Not the time and _definitely_ not the place.

Slightly pink in the face with his thoughts now under control, Harry coughed and said,

"You seem rather confident of all this. How can you be so sure that you have the truth of it?"

"You told us yourself Mr Potter. Not it words, no, but in every look, movement, sigh and wistful daydream. It is no small wonder that no one else has happened upon your 'secret'. It is out there for the world to see, every day."

This worried Harry vaguely, until he realised that if he was going to go through with whatever plan was being presented to him today, his secret would come out regardless. Affording himself another mental shrug – his third of the day he believed – Harry slowly nodded at his companion.

"Okay, I admit it. You're correct. I am not particularly happy with my life the way it is. Do you have any suggestions for improvements? Or am I just down here to admire your Lion Fish?"

"I have plenty of suggestions Mr Potter, in fact, I have A Plan."

"A Plan?"

"Indeed. A Plan, and the means to exact it. If you would follow me please."

Harry reluctantly removed himself from the comfortable couch and moved around the desk to a hitherto unnoticed door. His 'friend' held it wide for him and beyond it he could see a group of similar dressed Unspeakables, gathered around a table. The table held a device that looked somewhat akin to a Timeturner, but with buttons and dials galore. Instead of a fine gold chain, it was strapped to a leather belt which only looked long enough to be wrapped around someone's head. Harry had a sinking feeling that his head was going to be adorned in leather at some point in his near future.

"This, Mr Potter, is the means. We call it the Consciousness-shifter."

"Umm, not a very catchy name"

"Do you have any alternatives?"

"… No."

"Well, kindly refrain from pointing out the obvious then. Now, onto The Plan. We believe, that your problems could be solved, with this device. By using it, you will be able to project your consciousness backwards and forwards along your own timeline. It goes without saying that you will not be able to cast yourself back further than your own birth, or further forwards than this moment; such a thing would be impossible.

The dials you see allow you to choose the date of your arrival. The buttons you see allow you to set certain things to remain with you at all times, but you may choose to cast them under the built-in Veil of Secrecy charm – the device itself for example. You will obviously need to keep it with you if you wish to make a return trip.

The Plan is that you will use our device to travel backwards and make the changes you desire in your life. If something in this time isn't the way you wish it to be – and let's face it, that is true of virtually everything – you should be able to find a way of affecting it in the past to change your own present. Does this make sense to you Mr Potter?"

Harry stared. He went slightly cross-eyed. He stared some more before he took a big gulp and nodded.

"What makes you trust that I won't damage the present badly? Time tampering is usually heavily restricted after all."

"We believe that with your, ah, unique sense of righteousness, we in the present will be in marvellous hands. Plus, we have no doubt that you will still accomplish those lofty achievements which brought you to the world's attention at the tender age of seventeen Mr Potter. Voldemort must still be defeated and you, after all, are the only one able to do that. Other than that, the changes you make will hardly affect the rest of the world at all. You have led a rather sheltered life for someone who defeated the darkest wizard of our time."

Harry snorted and was about to disagree vehemently but hesitated, realising the words were true. He had hardly done anything with his life since he had felled his greatest foe. His only real achievement was becoming an Auror and had regretted that almost instantly. Stepping forward to the table, Harry reached out and took hold of the device.

His friend seized it almost immediately and wagged a finger in Harry's direction.

"Not quite yet Mr Potter. First, you need to decide when you are going to travel back to, and I need to show you how to return should you wish to."

Harry thought hard before coming up with his answer. After listening and watching closely to a demonstration of how to work the device, Harry was ready.

Slipping it snuggly around his ears, he grinned at the group at large before clicking on of the buttons along his forehead. With a distant pop, Harry Potter vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

 _The Elephant Effect_

The first time Harry travelled back, he chose a date and time perfect for testing that this 'experiment' was in fact genuine, and not some grand practical joke perpetrated by his long-time nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Since both joining the Ministry and embarking on divergent career paths at almost exactly the same time, the two had continued an approximation of the rivalry that had characterised much of their formative years.

Both Harry and Draco were often on the receiving end of each other's rage – if they were sad, angry, confused, irritated or dissatisfied in some way – or practical jokes – if they were feeling happy. As Harry considered their odd relationship whilst trying to figure out if Draco had any connections in the Unspeakables, it seemed to him that in recent times a lot more practical jokes were being played rather than violent verbal displays of vitriol in the Atrium. This was odd to Harry, as he wasn't happy. That was why he had followed the Unspeakable in the first place. Hmm, he thought, something to ponder.

The date and time chosen by Harry to test this theory was, in fact, 30 minutes previous to the conversation he had just had with his 'friends' about the device. If all went to plan, he should find himself back in the comfortable couch eyeing up the Lion fish.

A distant pop sounded in his ears and he blinked.

"…to be sure, you understand Mr Potter. We couldn't risk engaging the wrong candidate, only to have our work go wasted and unused. No, we are quite sure that you are the right fit for our experiment."

Harry blinked again, to be sure of what he was seeing. There was in fact, a great number of Lion fish swimming about to his left and a hooded Unspeakable sitting expectantly behind his desk, just as he had been 30 minutes earlier.

Harry let out a rather startled (and somewhat hysterical if he was being honest) laugh and said,

"Excuse me for just a moment won't you?"

Before his friend could say anything however, Harry had pushed a series of buttons on the now invisible device and as far as he was concerned, vanished from the couch. He didn't in fact vanish at all, but his future consciousness vanished from his historical body, leaving historical Harry with a slightly glazed look for half a second before he said,

"Sorry, could you repeat that?"

Back in the present, Harry appeared back in his body at the precise moment at which he had left. He stumbled slightly, not with any sort of impact from arriving but with crashing magnitude of what was being handed to him. The possibilities – the sheer, unending, infinite amount of possibilities! None came directly to mind of course, but the possibility of thinking of such opportunities now being afforded to him was staggering. And it made Mr Harry Potter very happy.

"I'm in."

"Excellent Mr Potter. Now, if you would step forward, I would like you to take an oath on your magic that no soul will ever hear of your endeavours. We will all be taking the oath with you, so no need to worry on that part. Once you have made the oath, you are free to go about your business. No doubt you have many thing to think over."

Oaths complete, Harry left and walked dazedly through the Ministry, travelled up to his office, and sat down to wrap his head around everything. It wasn't easy.

"Alright there mate?"

Ronald Weasley, Auror, was sitting in the opposite desk looking worriedly at his partner. Harry hadn't even noticed him upon entry to their broom closet.

"I'm fine Ron just… I'm fine."

Ron knew better than to try and wheedle the truth out of Harry by now, he had seen his better half try and fail for nigh on twenty years. Ron reflected that it was probably better that he didn't know – it would have only distracted him from his bacon roll.

"If you say so mate. Anyway, I've just come from Robard's office and he wants us to make a move on those Knut counterfeiters up in Solihull. You want to grab anything to eat before we head out?"

Harry considered. Not about the food, he was much too excited/terrified/distracted to eat anything anyway. But should he bother himself with dodgy Knuts when he the whole of his personal history available to re-write? The short answer to that, of course, was a resounding 'no', so Harry stood up, smiled a scarily toothy version of his usual grin and said quite briskly,

"No thanks Ron, I'm going home."

Ron, for his part, seemed astonished at this pronouncement and spluttered indignantly at the thought of being left to deal with the Case of the Nutty Knuts or whatever the hell the Prophet was calling this escapade into light misdemeanours. They really need to up their ante, thought Harry as he sailed back out through the door and up to the Atrium.

Harry didn't really go home of course, he was much too hyper for that. Instead, he apparated to Diagon alley and headed to the Leaky Cauldron to imbibe some much needed Dutch courage. After ordering a Firewhisky from a vaguely curious Hannah Longbottom, Harry scuttled to a dim, private corner to have a little think.

As soon as he sat down, he realised his chosen hiding place wasn't as private as he had hoped.

"Malfoy?"

"Potter"

A definite sneer played across the fine features of Draco Malfoy who sat, nursing his own Firewhisky, not two seats away. With a mental groan, Harry realised he had, most unwisely, joined Draco's table.

"Err… sorry for the intrusion. I'll just be on my way now!"

"Oh don't be so ridiculous Potter, two Ministry colleagues can enjoy an illicit drink during the workday can they not?"

Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow at Harry in a way that suggested any answer other than an affirmative would be regarded with the utmost derision.

"Umm… of course. And how are you today?"

"Well I'm currently nursing a double shot of this hell-hole's strongest Firewhisky, in the middle of the day on a drizzly Wednesday, whilst keeping company with none other than They Boy Who Lived to Make My Life a Living Nightmare. All in all, I would say that today is middling. How about you?"

Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment that was probably longer than was strictly polite before answering,

"I'm alright."

"Well! Such brevity would have been greatly appreciated in previous times, but now is not the time to be brief. You know as well as I that neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon, so I suggest that you rally your admittedly low brain capacity and come up with some decent conversation sharpish."

Harry wavered. He of course had much more pressing issues to deal with, but a clandestine chat with Draco Malfoy held some appeal. Why that should be the case was beyond him, and he decided that this was not the time to focus on it. The time. Harry laughed abruptly which garnered a surprised face from Malfoy. Harry realised he had all the time in the world. He could have this conversation with Malfoy again and again, saying just about anything he liked, before returning to a time before he had made an utter fool of himself, and trying again.

This realisation firmly in his mind, Harry downed his whisky and stood up.

"Sorry Malfoy, places to be, people to do, all of that sort of stuff…"

And with that, Harry left.

He stood in a darkened corner of the back courtyard of the Leaky and fiddled with his Consh (as he'd begun to think of it for the sake of time. Hah!). He set it to a time and date way back in the past. He was going to conduct his own type of experiment. Having seen a rather mediocre film called The Butterfly Effect, he wondered how much would change if he made one simple alteration to his past.

With a distant pop, Harry travelled back to Kings Cross Station, aged 11, shuffling awkwardly against the crowd, his baggage knocking into harried travellers around him. There, he saw the familiar figures of the Weasley family heading towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Harry knew now of course that Mrs Weasley asked about the platform number to keep the youngest Weasley in the loop and not feeling left out due to the fact that she wouldn't be taking the same journey for another year. Harry felt no great pang upon seeing his future wife looking so young and carefree, but his insides did take a great swoop when he saw Fred laughing and grinning rather evilly with his twin.

Hanging back so that they wouldn't see him dithering on the platform this time, Harry watched as they all disappeared through barrier. Following behind, Harry made sure to place himself in a carriage far away from Ron. It wasn't that he wanted to rid himself of their friendship, it was just that he wanted to test his theory – if they didn't meet on the platform or the train, would they become such firm friends over the next seven years at Hogwarts?

Settled in his compartment, Harry cast a quick Notice-me-Not charm around himself, before preparing his Consh for the return trip.

'Pop!'

He was back in his darkened spot in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. Hmmm, he thought. Not much could have changed if I still came here today. Or maybe his location would always be the same on the return trip? He would have to check with the Unspeakables.

Returning back inside, he saw Malfoy staring darkly at the doorway he had just gone out of then, to all intents and purposes, walked back in immediately afterwards.

"What happened? Were all of the places you needed to be and people you needed to do immediately outside of this room? Or are you as completely insane as I believe you are?"

Harry ignored both Draco and the look that grew steadily darker at his continued silence and strode through the bar to the Apparition point just outside of the door. He needed to see Ron.

"Changed your mind about going home then did you?"

Ron looked pissed off. Harry couldn't blame him. He also couldn't blame him for his face turning a rather unpleasant shade of puce as Harry turned on his heel and marched away again.

Clearly The Butterfly Effect was a load of old tosh. He was going to have to do something much more drastic. Slipping into a disused office, he took the Consh and set it to the same date and time as earlier, but planned on staying much, _much_ longer this time.

Back on the train and Notice-me-Not charm firmly in place, Harry took out a quill and parchment and set about making a list. Seeing Fred again after all those years had been playing on his mind and he realised he had the scope to change far more than his own life – he just needed to figure out what. First, he made a list of people who had died in his original timeline – not including anyone who had actively sought to off him at any point in time.

 _Dad_

 _Mum_

 _Bertha Jorkins_

 _Frank the Gardener_

 _Mr Crouch_

 _Cedric Diggory_

 _Bode_

 _Sirius_

 _Amelia Bones_

 _Emmeline Vance_

 _Florean Fortescue_

 _Hannah's mum_

 _Professor Dumbledore_

 _Professor Burbage_

 _Hedwig_

 _Moody_

 _Scrimgeour_

 _Gregorovitch_

 _Ted Tonks_

 _Dirk Cresswell_

 _Many Goblins_

 _Dobby_

 _Fred_

 _Tonks_

 _Remus_

 _Lavender_

 _Snape_

By the end of the list, Harry was crying silently all over his parchment. It had brought it all back, everything he had tried to, not forget exactly, but section away in his mind so that he could cope with simply living. Was there any possible way he could save so many lives? He didn't know for sure, but was damn well going to try.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

 _The Sorting Hat Once More_

Having managed to avoid notice on the Hogwarts Express, Harry was hardly surprised when his sudden appearance on the platform at Hogsmeade Station was greeted with raised eyebrows and not so subtle whispers loud enough to rival the swaying branches overhead. What did surprise him however, was his reaction to a familiar drawl from a small, pale boy;

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the platform that Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. So it's you, is it?"

Rather than feel immediately defensive as he had done once so many years ago, Harry felt very certain that he wanted to be Draco's friend. So much of the damage done during his own timeline had come from trying to deal with everything himself, only extending his inner-most quandaries to Hermione and Ron. Whilst they had been extremely helpful and he would always be grateful, he wondered how much of the great Slytherin/Gryffindor divide could have been avoided if Harry had accepted the Sorting Hat's original wish to place him amongst the snakes. Their cunning and willingness to side with the winning time might have won out if they had seen up-close and personally how determined Harry had been to defeat Voldemort, had known about the prophecy, had known that Harry was always going to be the victor really.

"Yes," said Harry. He took a brief glance at the other boys standing just behind Draco. They were both as thickset and mean looking as he remembered, just like bodyguards in miniature.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said Draco carelessly. Harry wondered how careless he really was, remembering the terrified way Draco had tried to hoist Goyle above the roaring flames of the Fiendfyre, ahead of himself. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

With no Ron about to snigger at the boy's lofty announcement, Harry was able to answer him normally,

"Nice to meet you. Want to walk together?"

This gesture seemed to surprise Draco, although Harry wasn't sure why. Had he expected his clumsy offer of friendship to be rejected? He certainly hadn't acted like it last time, seeming to assume his name alone would be enough to form a solid bond. He replied hesitantly,

"Okay then, let's go," just as Hagrid's voice be heard bellowing:

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there Harry?"

The trip across the lake in the little boats was as wondrous has he remembered it, though nothing could beat the real life experience of watching Hogwarts revealed to them underneath the starry sky.

Harry listened somewhat distractedly to Professor McGonagall's lecture as he tried to make up his mind what to do about the Sorting. Reaching a conclusion, he separated his memories of the future in to a tiny box in his mind, and threw up the strongest Occlumency shields he could muster, as they walked forward into the hushed expectancy of the Great Hall. He had taken to Occlumency like a duck to water after the War – turns out having a raving lunatic in your mind hinders you somewhat when trying to think rationally and calmly. Hmm, he'd have to do something about that a lot sooner than the last time, he thought.

He would let the Sorting Hat sort him as if it were his first time, but this time he would accept the decision to place him in Slytherin. He might need to work hard to patch things up with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but it would be worth it to try and start affecting changes in the House that had done most of the rallying of support for Voldemort within the Hogwarts walls. He also didn't want the Sorting Hat to discuss what he had seen in Harry's mind with Professor Dumbledore. Harry wasn't certain, but something told him that the Hat would pass along the contents of his mind – it was far too interesting not to – and that could scupper a fair few of Harry's plans. He loved Dumbledore of course, but the Professor was far too meddlesome for his own – and Harry's – good.

 _"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me…"_

Checking and re-checking his shields, Harry felt pretty confident that the Hat wouldn't see through into his deeper mind. Memories of his childhood at the Dursley's he placed front and centre, as well as his own (now re-written) memories of the first time he had travelled on the Hogwart's express. He did however, include his new introduction to Draco Malfoy, as he wanted to encourage the Hat to place him in Slytherin and a new found friendship would serve to reassure it that Harry would be fine in the dungeons.

Tuning back in to the Sorting, he was startled to find that the proceedings had already reached,

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnegan, Seamus!

"GRIFFINDOR!"

"Granger, Hermione!"

He grinned in anticipation of seeing a youthful Hermione again, as he hadn't met her yet in this timeline. She almost ran up to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

Harry was stunned. Apparently the conversation that should have happened on the Hogwarts Express had left a great impression on Hermione the first time around. This seemed slightly odd to Harry, knowing how strong-willed she would become in later years. Then he remembered how insecure Hermione had been until he and Ron had saved her from the troll on Halloween – she hadn't been able to make friends in Gryffindor until that night and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the fact that Ron had been a major reason for that. He could only hope that her fellow Ravenclaws would be kinder than Ron had been – she would certainly have more in common with them from the off.

Lost in thought, it was a surprise when he heard,

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

" _Potter_ , did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

Completely ignoring the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him, Harry waited patiently whilst inspecting the dark inside of the Hat.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry relaxed and thought precisely nothing. He wasn't going to give the Hat any indication of preference this time around.

"I think, overall, Slytherin would be the right choice Mr Potter. You could be great, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. Happy? If you sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and walked proudly towards the Slytherin table. He was so caught up in congratulating himself at succeeding in his Plan that he hardly noticed that there was absolute silence in the Hall. Not even the Slytherins were cheering, that is they weren't until a small pale boy whose eyes were suddenly very interested in the dark haired boy who was heading towards him, began clapping and cheering. The rest of the table caught on quickly and followed the young Malfoy's example. Harry sat down next to Draco and realised he had inadvertently sat opposite the Bloody Baron. With a shudder, he politely nodded to the ghastly ghost and turned to look at the High Table.

There, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry was disgruntled to see he was as shocked as the rest of the student populace – shouldn't he be impartial to such things as the Sorting? Hagrid still gave him his thumbs-up but he looked troubled while doing so. And there, next to Snape, was Quirrell. Harry practically quivered with rage at the fact that Voldemort was _right there_ and he could do literally nothing about it. Or… could he?

In a trice, he had sprang out of his seat, whipped out his wand and yelled,

" _Accio_ turban!"

The lurid purple monstrosity flew across the Great Hall and into his waiting hands. The thing reaked of decay and he flung it to one side whilst Draco and Blaise – who had joined the table during Harry's musings – gagged at the stench.

Quirrell's face turned a sickly white colour and he shrieked in rage, aiming his wand directly at Harry. Before he could get a spell off thought, Harry cast a quick _Levicorpus!_ at Quirrell who was launched in to the air ankle first, spinning on the way up to reveal the back of his head to the whole of the Great Hall.

Those closest to the High Table screamed first, not so much in recognition of the thing in the back of Quirrell's head as the parasite formerly known as Lord Voldemort, but at the fact there was a FACE sticking out of the back of a person's head! Dumbledore was the quickest to react, binding the man in thin black rope and stunning him. About four stunners joined his and two more hit Voldemort right in the nose. Harry snorted, he couldn't help himself. That was when he realised the every single face in the great hall was looking directly at him.

Not for long though, as a great black haze suddenly lifted Quirrell even higher into the air, before dropping him to the stone below. It hissed and screamed in a feral, animalistic tone before launching itself, not at Harry as anyone might have expected, but at Dumbledore.

Harry supposed this made sense – Voldemort had aimed for the most powerful person in the room, while he was distracted and vulnerable. Harry waited with bated breath for Dumbledore to cast the spirit out as he himself had done in the Ministry after Sirius had died. Except the spirit never came out. When Dumbledore next opened his eyes, they were blood red and the frisson of Dark magic seeped out across the room chilling everything it touched. Glass began to shake, then break and every candle dimmed until put out. Well shit, he thought. This was very bad.

Harry swiftly dialled 15 minutes previously into the Consh – who would have thought the whole world could change so much in just 15 minutes? – And popped back to when the world hadn't been on the precipice of destruction. To be frank, before Harry had acted like a complete goddamn idiot.

Sighing in relief, he got up off the stool and grinned.

Taking his slow walk from the Sorting Hat to his place at the Slytherin table, Harry took the time to smile at everyone in the Great Hall. He already knew that Draco would come to his rescue in about 2 seconds, there it was, and he wanted to allay any fears that he was going to be the next Dark Lord. From the looks of things, it was far more likely that _Dumbledore_ had it in him for that job than Harry, which was a rather disconcerting thought.

Such dark thoughts stayed with him right through his treacle tart – which tasted just as delicious on this side of the Great Hall as the other – and down to his new common room in the dungeons.

"Welcome first years, to the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin. Though you are not Slytherins by blood, you will uphold the traditions and fulfil the expectations of your behaviour as if you were such. I expect nothing less than your utmost effort in all aspects of your time here at Hogwarts."

Snape's eyes swivelled to Harry at this point and he continued softly,

"Do not _disappoint_ me."

And with that, he swept out, sleeves billowing. Harry gazed wistfully after him, wishing he could tell him just how much he understood – it would certainly make the next seven years easier if he could connect with Snape about Lily. Hmm, that was definitely a possibility to consider.

"Wow, he's… pretty scary."

"Ah he's not so bad," said Draco, "although he _is_ my Godfather, so he probably gives me preferential treatment." He finished this proclamation sniggering as Harry gaped at him. Well that was something he had never known, in this timeline or the last.

"So, err, which bed are you taking?"

This awkward attempt at changing the subject was followed by a great, though good natured (mostly) argument between all of the first year boys before settling down on their respective four-posters.

"I believe that that chicken is disagreeing with me," Draco muttered under his breath, so quietly that a moment later Harry doubted he had him say anything at all. He was going to ask Draco if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, or perhaps it was the emotional upheaval of witnessing a hellish mixture of Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, because he had a very strange dream. He was back in his office at the Auror department, Ron was yelling at him about dodgy Knuts and Draco was leaning against the doorway sneering at Harry as he drowned in an ever-increasing pile of paper work. Ron turned into Voldemort, who set his paperwork of fire with a high cold laugh and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

Wow, haven't had one of those in a while, Harry thought sleepily as he rolled over and fell asleep again. When he woke next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

 _Building Bridges_

Harry awoke with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He half remembered a nightmare about having to endlessly write out the list he had composed on the Hogwarts Express for all eternity, as a punishment for saving any of the people on it. He was fairly certain that that wasn't the only bad dream he had endured the night before, but the details of the others eluded him.

Taking the feeling as an omen, he pressed a few buttons on his Consh and the list became magically tied to it – it would remain with him at all times, even if he jumped to a time before he had written the list. Silently thanking the Unspeakables for their handiwork, Harry re-read the list now clutched in his hand, by the light of a Lumos. He wasn't quite ready to part his bed curtains to admit the pale dawn.

The first two names on the list seemed accusatory to him. He wasn't entirely sure why he had written them down in the first place – what could he possibly do to change the fates of his parents? Even if he travelled back with the Consh, he would be less than two years old. He doubted very much his ability to operate the Consh at that age to take the return trip, let alone thwart Voldemort in his terrible plans. Screwing his eyes up in frustration, Harry thought desperately about how he could affect events ten years in the past.

Could he send someone else back? An adult like Remus, who would be able to force the Potters to escape before Voldemort could arrive? He could even tell Dumbledore about Pettigrew and then…

No, he thought desolately. That would mean telling someone about the device, and he had sworn on his magic not to. Tears swam as he reached for a quill from his nightstand. With a sob, he carefully crossed through each of his parent's names, before throwing the list away from himself in disgust, curling up in a ball and wept silently until the sounds of his dormitory-mates stirring, forced him to stop.

Not willing to avail himself of their no-doubt hilarious taunts at his tear strained face just yet, Harry turned his mind to his half-formed plans for Sirius. The first and foremost thought in his mind with that regard was the capture and forced testimony of one Peter Pettigrew. Though the rat was ensconced in Gryffindor tower, Harry didn't really think it would be too much of a problem to get in with his invisibility cloak.

The cloak! He thought with horror. He wouldn't have it until Christmas! Well, at least he would have plenty of time to decide what he was going to do with the filthy traitorous scumbag once he caught him. The thought that he would have to wait at least four months before he could help Sirius left a sour taste in his mouth however, and Harry was desperate to do something to start helping the people he cared about as soon as possible. But what?

It was frustrating to say the least being in the body of his eleven year old self again. Not only was he now physically ill-equipped to deal with the wizarding world at large as his scrawny, speccy self, but he found that his mind often felt like it once had done as well. He still retained all of his memories of his previous timeline, and knew in theory what it felt like to be an unhappily married Auror in his late twenties. He also knew exactly what it felt like to be an unsure and heart-broken eleven year old – because he felt like that right now. This was something that the Unspeakables had mentioned, and as Harry was undoubtedly a test case, he wondered if they were even aware of the phenomenon. Sighing, he wrenched his thoughts back to the problem at hand.

Then it hit him. Horcruxes. Retrieving his list, Harry counted the names of people who would be saved by simply preventing the return of Voldemort. 23. The others would be helped if Harry could prevent Pettigrew from re-joining his master. It was clear from this thought process that his two main objectives in this timeline therefore, were to rid the world of his Horcruxes before Voldemort could make an attempt at returning to a body, and prevent anyone else from aiding him in that mission. The first of those people who would do such a thing was already causing problems for Harry – Quirrell. Quirrell and Voldemort's plan was obviously to use the Philosopher's Stone and form a body for Voldemort with it. Should he just get the Stone now and have done with it? He would have to decide later it seemed, for now he was being called by Draco from across the dorm;

"Potter! Get out of bed this instant – Slytherins are never late and I fully intend to leave you to Snape's kindly ministrations if you do not get your lazy arse in gear right now!"

That was more than enough of a threat for anyone on a Monday morning and Harry climbed slowly out of bed and into the shower, leaving Draco to harrumph and flounce about in what he clearly assumed was an intimidating manner. Harry grinned at him as he disappeared in a cloud of steam.

…

While breakfast was quiet for Harry, it was not for the rest of the Great Hall. Shouts, shrieks and howling laughter could be heard emanating from every table, as students read through their new timetables for the year. Snape wafted over with Harry's and the other first year's clasped in his thin fingers and Harry took his before giving it the briefest of glances. He seriously doubted any of the first year curriculum would give him any trouble, and he would only really have to worry about his performance in Potions – unlike Occlumency, his ability in that area had not improved even after the removal of Horcrux in his scar.

Their first lesson that morning was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and the Gryffindors. Harry was happy to see his old friends again, but he was also quite nervous. Of course, he knew that he and Ron would make great friends, but what would make Ron agree with him? He also remembered that Hermione would not be joining them, given that she was now a Ravenclaw. Harry resolved to seek her out as soon as possible – making a start on inter-house unity would give him something to concentrate on until at least Christmas.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," McGonagall said, "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

After watching the trick with the pig, Harry set about taking as many notes as he could manage. Although he would have no trouble with the tasks for anyone of his classes – as far as he could tell anyway – Harry was certain that knowledge was key to preventing disaster this time around. He had never been the ideal scholar in the first timeline, egged on somewhat by Ron it had to be said, and his half formed plans to off Voldemort before the world was any the wiser stood every chance of going horribly wrong. He would rather not have to go through his time at Hogwarts more than two times, and he didn't want to risk missing some crucial piece of knowledge that would help him in his upcoming trials. Plus, it would give him a plausible excuse if his abilities out-stretched those of a normal eleven year old.

Taking his match from Professor McGonagall, she had barely taken two steps before he had changed it into a needle. Harry gulped. That was a bit more than out-stretching, he thought. It was only lucky he had remembered to say the incantation out loud.

The professor's eyebrows rose so far up her forehead that they seemed in danger of disappearing underneath her hat.

"Mr Potter. Would you care to repeat that for me?"

Harry obliged, and saw that McGonagall's experience only grew more incredulous. Sparing a second to glance around the classroom, Harry saw that all of the other students had stopped their own attempts in favour of watching the events unfolding at his desk. His eye caught Ron's and he gave him a shy smile, which faded when it was greeted with a scowl and a huff. Oh dear, Ron in this timeline would obviously be a tough nut to crack.

"Have you done much reading this summer Mr Potter?"

Oh thank Merlin for that, a ready-made excuse; "Err, yes Professor. I didn't want to fall behind as I was raised by Muggles."

Satisfied, for the moment, with this response, McGonagall gave him a thin smile, awarded him ten points, asked him to assist the students who were struggling with the transformation and continued on her way. By the end of the lesson only Draco had made any difference to her match, with Harry's help of course.

…

At lunch, Harry found Ron in the entrance hall stuffing the contents of his bag back in to it, though it was a rather pointless activity given that the bag had split. Hurrying over to him, Harry cast a Reparo at the bag and started to help gather Ron's belongings from the vicinity.

"I don't need any help from a Slytherin!" Ron was glaring at his feet, red in the face and Harry wasn't sure if it was anger or shame that had brought about the change in hue. Choosing to ignore the outburst, Harry held out his hand to Ron and said,

"I'm Harry. You're Ron right? That Reparo won't last long with all that stuff in your bag. I've got a spare one in the common room if you want to borrow it for now?"

Harry was hoping that by suggesting the bag as a loan only, Ron would accept it and with it, the tentative offer of friendship being made by Harry. Ron slowly lifted his gaze to meet Harry's and put in place as good a neutral expression as Ron Weasley was ever going to achieve before replying,

"Ron, yeah. Err thanks, if you don't mind? Just as a loan though, I don't need any charity! But, I don't fancy being late on the very first day because my bag won't stay together. Bloody Fred, he must have jinxed it before I got it off him…"

Ron seemed to realise he was about to reveal the fact that his bag was second-hand because he quickly clamped his lips together, and the redness that he started to recede was back in full force, now reaching his ears.

"Well, come one then, if we go now we can be back in time for some lunch before next lesson."

A somewhat apprehensive Ron followed behind Harry to the dungeons, his full to bursting bag clutched in his arms. He seemed to be working up to asking something, but Harry let him get to it in his own time. He was fairly sure what it was going to be anyway.

"So – have you really got – you know…" He gestured with a nod to Harry's forehead.

Sighing inwardly at Ron's chronic lack of tact, Harry obligingly pulled back his fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron stared, and very nearly dropped his bag again.

"So that's where You-Know-Who…?"

"Yes," said Harry resignedly, "But I don't really like talking about it. It's ridiculous that I'm famous for something I can't even really remember, and quite horrible that people like to praise me for an event that ended with the murder of my parents. It just makes me feel… you know…"

Harry trailed off, taking a peek at Ron who had paled rather quickly at this sentiment, having the good grace to look somewhat abashed.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"Its fine," Harry quickly reassured him, "I just don't know how anyone could think I would be happy to be famous for something like that you know? I mean, obviously I'm glad that Voldemort was defeated, he _did_ kill my parents after all and plenty of other people besides. But it's not like I did anything – I was a baby for Merlin's sake! It was my mum really, she gave me the protection I needed to survive. She should be the one getting all of the recognition, not me."

Harry was silent after this. He was surprised at himself – he hadn't shared these thoughts with anyone since he and Ginny had got back together after the Second War. She had wanted to know why the press bothered him so much. If he remembered correctly in fact, it was during an argument about declining a handsomely paid interview that would have ensured an exotic holiday for the Potters. Harry had refused on the basis that _nothing_ was worth an afternoon in the company of Rita Skeeter, and that Ginny had been proud of Harry when he had donated much of the Potter fortune to help the with the repairs on Hogwarts and the wider wizarding community.

"Here we are. Just hold on here a second and I'll be right out."

Leaving Ron at the portrait outside of the Slytherin common room, Harry quickly grabbed his spare backpack and came back through, ensuring the password stayed safe. He might be trying to build a friendship here, but he wasn't entirely certain that Ron wouldn't leap on the opportunity to steal into the Slytherin quarters with his prankster brothers at the earliest opportunity.

"Thanks very much. Listen, sorry about earlier. I'm just not used to a Slytherin being anything but evil, you know?"

Harry laughed, "You'd be surprised Ron, I'm not the only decent Slytherin in our year. I might introduce you to the others some time."

Ron looked wildly sceptical, but remind silent on the subject. Merely shaking his head with a resigned laugh, he and Harry began the trek back up to the Great Hall to squeeze in a quick lunch. It may not have been much, Harry thought, but it was a start.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: After a quick visit to Pottermore, I got some information on what Draco likes to do in his spare time – it seems to me Harry would have had a much easier time of it in his first year if he'd been friends with Draco! Also, Parseltongue will be written in **Bold** as I already use italics for emphasis. I haven't read any fics where Harry explores the common room like this, hopefully you enjoy!

…

CHAPTER SIX

 _The Common Room_

By the time Harry reached Saturday, he was exhausted. He had spent most the evenings either doing homework in the library (where, to his delight, he had been able to strike up a conversation with Hermione, who wasn't nearly as suspicious of his motives as Ron was), seeking out Ron for some flying practice on the old school brooms, or chatting to Draco in the Slytherin common room. The last activity had taken a bit of a back-seat he had to admit. It was much easier talking to Ron and Hermione, even with Ron's doubtful glances and quips about sneaky snakes, than it was Draco.

Harry found that he had to fight with himself to prevent a stinging barb leaving his mouth anytime Draco spoke; it wasn't that Draco was actively trying to rile him as he had done in the original timeline, it was just that most of the things Draco said were in opposition to what Harry believed. Harry continued to remind himself that much of the nonsense Draco spouted was repeated directly from the mouth of his father, and Draco really didn't know any better. Yet.

To that end, Harry tried to argue with many of his pronouncements about pure-blood superiority, without actually arguing. This earned him a few odd glances from his fellow Slytherins, but he could tell that some of his comments about inbreeding and the sheer number of muggles that inhabited the planet struck a chord. A few of the older Slytherins even sought him out in private to discuss the muggle world, paying particular attention to the information he provided on nuclear weaponry and the populations of each country – Harry had done his research in anticipation of this and even _he_ had been surprised.

It was with this in mind that he decided to spend his whole weekend getting to know his fellow first-years better, and exploring the common room. It had occurred to him that since Salazar Slytherin had concealed the entire Chamber of Secrets with nothing but a one word, Parseltongue password, there might be more wonders to discover, if only someone would look for them.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire constantly crackled under an elaborately sculpted mantelpiece on one wall and there were groupings of carved chairs spaced around tables of dark wood.

It was mostly deserted as most of the students were outside enjoying the bright September day, occupying themselves with leaf-kicking and giant squid baiting before the weather turned. Harry spotted the top of a white blonde head poking out from behind one of the carved chairs and he smiled. Let's see what Draco thinks of _this_.

 **Hello? Are there any secrets to be found here?**

Draco moved as quickly as to make Harry wonder if he was concealing a broom beneath his robes (Harry sniggered a bit at this thought), and whirled around to face Harry, his mouth agape. Ignoring him for the moment, he continued to walk around the edges of the room, questioning in Parseltongue as he went.

 **Salazar Slytherin, my name is Harry Potter and would like to know if there are any secrets here.**

A few more paces, Draco's eyes never leaving his face.

 **I already know of your Chamber on the second floor. Not** ** _entirely_** **sure why you put the entrance in a bathroom of course…**

Several more steps, nearing a seemingly empty painting hanging to the left of the ornate fireplace.

 **But it was rather impressive, and I wondered if you had a few more tricks up your sleeve. Perhaps here in the…**

Harry broke off abruptly as the empty frame he was standing close to swung forwards. Draco had moved to stand next to him and they both gaped at the painting and the darkness that lay behind it. Just at that moment, the portrait at the entrance swung outwards and voices could be heard rounding the corner.

"Quick get in!"

Both boys clambered through in to the gloom and the empty frame obligingly closed behind them. Holding a finger to his lips (that Draco would have no way of seeing the gesture in the pitch dark was beside the point), Harry fumbled for his wand to cast a quick Lumos. Before he could reach it however, the portrait turned completely see-through, flooding their hidey-hole with greenish light from the room beyond. They both froze, hardly daring to breath. Surely one of the fifth-year boys who had just settled in front of the fire would spot them immediately? Clearly unable to bear the tension, Draco let out a squeak of hysterical giggles before clamping one hand across his own mouth and the other around Harry's arm. Not one of the fifth-years beyond even lifted their heads questioningly, no one's eyes flickered their way, nothing.

Apprehensively, Harry called out, "Hello?"

Draco squeezed his fingers in to Harry's forearm then before letting go and crawling forward slightly to get a better look at the boys relaxing in front of them.

"They… can't hear us in here can they?"

"Doesn't seem like it no. I think we've found Salazar's spy-hole!" Harry replied, grinning broadly. Catching onto the other boy's excitement at their find, Draco grinned back.

"That, what you did back there to find this place, was that… Parseltongue?"

Harry was uncertain now. He had assumed that Draco would be pretty impressed and he could use his ability to further their friendship, but Draco looked… something Harry couldn't quite place.

"Err yes. Does it bother you?"

He waited, he didn't want to scare the other boy off.

"You're a Parselmouth. That… that is _so cool_!"

Relief flooded him. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was relieved at his plan paying off, or at the simple sense of joy he found at this formerly shameful part of him being accepted so readily. Harry was feeling less than thrilled with the Ron and Hermione of his second year at that moment if he was perfectly honest.

"Can you talk to snakes?"

Draco's eyes were shining and Harry happily replied, "Yeah, once I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo – long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to. That was before I knew I was a wizard…"

" _Brilliant_ ," Draco breathed _._

"Can you keep this a secret for the moment Draco? I don't want people in the other houses getting, you know, the wrong idea about me. I've already had to fight a few battles about getting sorted into Slytherin. There's so much rubbish being said about all Slytherins being evil – its absolute tripe of course but the last thing I want is another reason for people to pick on me…"

Harry trailed off, suddenly realising who he was speaking to. Draco Malfoy, in his previous timeline anyway, was the one person Harry could guarantee would take any weakness of his and expose it to the world without hesitation. The nerves he had shed earlier came crashing back.

Draco eyed him for a moment, seemingly weighing up the pros and cons of sharing this information with the wider Hogwarts community. The fact that he was keeping a rather large secret for one of the most influential – and potential powerful – wizards in the school seemed to finally sway him however and he said,

"I will keep your secret Potter. But only if you keep one of mine."

Well, thought Harry, this is new. Perhaps this Draco might be more interested in friendship than blackmail material after all. One could hope anyway.

"Of course! What is it?"

"I have (pause) something of a passion for a long-exhausted and rather pointless discipline." At this point he reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew several well-worn manuscripts, before handing them to Harry.

"It's alchemy. It's ridiculous I know – there has been no progress in the field since Flamel succeeded in the creation of the Philosopher's Stone and no one else can figure out how he did it. Some of the most able wizards and witches of the past 500 years have tried to make sense of his notes and thought process to no avail. There is very little point in an eleven-year old wizard having a go. I should just throw these away and find some other obsession but…"

Draco looked terribly vulnerable at that moment. He avoided Harry's gaze and instead focused his eyes on the back of his beloved manuscripts. Harry was deeply touched that he had shared what was clearly a very private part of his existence.

"But you can't give up on your dream. I understand; for a long time I… wanted to change a lot of stuff in my life. I'm still not sure what I actually _do_ want but I know that if I ever figure it out, I wouldn't be giving up either. Thank you for telling me." He smiled a small smile at Draco, who slowly lifted his gaze to meet Harry's.

"I… of course Potter. Think nothing of it."

They sat quietly for a while, watching the occupants of the common room as they went about their business. Harry came to a decision about the Philosopher's Stone; he was just going to go and retrieve it as soon as possible. He would decide whether or not to show Draco when he had it, but his knowledge of the Stone might prove helpful in the execution of the nebulous plan he was forming for dealing with Voldemort.

Back in his four-poster that evening, he chuckled softly. This timeline was already proving to him that certain things in his life had definitely gone wrong the first time around – Harry reflected that he would have had a much easier time of things in his original first year if he had been friends with Draco.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

 _Through the Trapdoor Once More_

By the time September was drawing to a close, Harry was feeling mostly happy with the re-do of his timeline, with just a hint of frustration. Content to wait until after Christmas to move things forward for Sirius, that left months and months of, well, _nothing_. Ron had cooled off again on the friendship front, Hermione was content to study with him in the library – in silence due to her new-found Ravenclaw deference to Madam Pince – and things with Draco were going just fine. All of his Professors (apart from Snape) were continually impressed by his successes in class and the work was not a challenge. Overall, Harry was bored.

And so it came to be that on the evening of the last night in September, Harry was waiting impatiently behind his bed curtains for the rest of the Slytherins to call it a night so he could sneak out. His destination? The third floor corridor on the right-hand side of course.

Once he was certain everyone had finally left the common room, Harry slipped out bed and crept to the corridor. He was fairly sure he would be able to get to the third floor without detection; his knowledge of secret passageways and shortcuts had outshone even the Weasley twins by the end of his eighth year at Hogwarts after all. The journey was almost completely uneventful – if only Peeves didn't have a knack for finding him out after curfew in compromising situations, Harry wouldn't have to cause chewing-gum to wedge itself up his nose would he?

Outside of the door to Fluffy's chamber, Harry quickly transfigured a comb he had brought with him into a harp, and cast a motion spell on its strings. Pausing briefly outside of the chamber to wonder why such a dangerous beast and a priceless treasure would be guarded by a locked wooden door that could be opened with a simple Alohomora, Harry then entered the room and set his Harp down. As soon as Fluffy heard the first notes, his eyelids began to droop and he slumped down against the opposite wall for a little nap.

Breathing a sigh of relief that his harp had worked – he really didn't feel much like singing – Harry climbed down through the trap down and into the darkness below. Letting go of the edge, he landed with a soft 'thwump!' on the Devil's Snare below. Harry cast a quick Incendio at the grasping vines, beat a hasty path to safety and put out the fire with a powerful Aguamenti.

Harry had made a very clear plan on how he was going to tackle each of the defences in front of the Philosopher's Stone this time around. Although none of them would pose any sort of problem for him (another curious point to consider when he had the time; what self-respecting adult witch or wizard would have failed in the face of the traps so easily overcome by three eleven year olds? And with that being the case, was Dumbledore _hoping_ for a student to bypass the defences? Hmm, he was beginning to doubt that Hogwarts _was_ the safest place outside of Gringotts. There was no doubt in his mind that the bank was superior to the castle in that respect regardless – he, Ron and Hermione had had to destroy half of the bank and steal a dragon to pull off their heist after all) he didn't particularly want Professor Dumbledore finding the Stone gone any time soon. He planned on leaving as much as possible exactly as he found it, to delay a panicked search throughout the castle for the missing treasure.

With the plant returned to its pre-singed glory, Harry moved on to the flying key room. This room would require very little damage to allow him to proceed – the skills he had acquired from nearly twenty years of playing Quidditch and running the Ministry's adult flying programme in his spare time stood him in good stead for catching the damn key in what he assumed was record time. The poor key was subjected to a straightening out against his thigh before being allowed to fly away, whilst Harry proceeded on to McGonagall's giant chess set.

As soon as Harry stepped onto the board, the white pieces raised their shields and swords menacingly. He did not doubt that they would beat him mercilessly if he attempted to cross just be strolling forward.

After much (well, not that much) consideration, Harry had decided firmly against attempting to play his way across the chess board. If Harry's suppositions were correct about the testing nature of this whole set up, he should be able to simply blast his way through the chess set. This line of reasoning was opposed to what he had believed his the original time line – that the seven layers of protection were almost completely infallible and it would have been impossible for anyone without their cunning and skill to get past them. He scoffed at the idea now of course – an idea that had been disproved even during his adventure to the Philosopher's Stone by Professor Quirrell. He was no smart cookie even _with_ Voldemort helping him, blind beneath the lurid turban. No, this was clearly some sort of test of worthiness devised by Professor Dumbledore.

Harry had to wonder what might have happened had any of the other students attempted to reach the Stone before he and his friends – or at least attempted and _succeeded._ There was no way of knowing how many had tried and failed along the way. It was a dangerous game Dumbledore was playing whatever the case; Fluffy alone could happily chomp his way through most of the first year students without even getting full.

A well placed Bombarda Maxima put paid to the blank, staring face of the white king and queen, allowing Harry to pass across the board without worry. He also blasted a few of the other chess men on both sides of the board for good measure.

The reason for this becoming obvious as soon as he had opened the door into the troll's chamber. A foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet Harry seemed to find himself in after a night out in muggle London with Seamus and Dean.

The foul thing gave a low grunt and shuffled towards him on his gigantic, hair feet. This troll was around fifteen feet tall with dull, granite grey skin and looked rather gruesome as it stopped briefly to contemplate Harry. Looking at him with tiny eyes peering out its coconut-like head, it waggled its ears as it decided he was worth killing after all.

Harry waited as long as he could before succumbing to the odour and fear and flung himself to the right, out of the path of the beast. It continued on into the chess room for several steps before realising its prey was longer waiting obligingly for death at which point Harry righted himself and fired the strongest stunner he could muster directly at the thing's face as soon as looked stupidly around for him. It took several more stunners in the exact same place before the troll went down and Harry was winded by the time it finally fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

After a brief pause to catch his breath, Harry rallied his strength and levitated the troll to the middle of the chess board. With a bit of luck, if anyone decided to come down and check on the Stone it would look like the troll had broken out and gone a bit mad. If the troll woke up before that happened, Harry had no doubt that the vicious thing would help him with the illusion.

Almost looking forward to Snape's logic puzzle for a bit of a breather, Harry moved on. It wasn't necessary to figure out the puzzle. It was a bit shamefacedly that Harry realised he remembered exactly which bottle held the correct potion for moving forward through the black fire; he may or may not have relived some of his past adventures in the Penseive he had received for his 25th birthday from Hermione. It wasn't his fault that the magic community _still_ hadn't devised something comparable to a television after all.

In the final chamber, the Philosopher's Stone sat out in the open, atop a carved pedestal. The Mirror of Erised wouldn't be moved into place as the final protection until after Christmas after all. Not two steps inside the chamber, Harry began to feel the thrum of heavy wards lacing the air between him and his goal – the Stone wasn't as unprotected as it looked.

As he hadn't known what protection this final room would hold, Harry had been unable to prepare or plan for it. Now, he was quite pleased to say that his initial probing of the wards in place led him to believe he would be able to break through them without too much difficulty. It would seem that Dumbledore was happy for students to get this far – but no further.

Only the bravest, or most foolhardy, students in Hogwarts would reach this chamber anyway and Harry thought that those who would try would do so during the first term while the warning they received at the welcome feast was fresh in their minds. If they got here and had to turn back, it was unlikely they would return to try again later, when the Mirror had been installed. Any students who made the trip after Harry was done would be disappointed, he thought, but he didn't feel too bad as they wouldn't know any better and it would make a decent story regardless.

Harry took out his wand and silently cast a web of golden light about himself, as a strong shield against anything that tried to prevent him from dismantling the wards. Then, he set to work feeling along the tendrils of magic emanating from the Stone itself, as it seemed that the wards were tied directly to it. Harry considered; he may be able to tie the wards to something else, and simply leave with the Stone and the wards intact. There might be a brief moment when Dumbledore would see the Stone disappear and suddenly reappear again, but he would have to be paying pretty close attention at that exact time and at – a quick Tempus charm – 1am, that was unlikely.

Harry bent down and picked up a small stone from the dusty ground. He cast a permanent glamour on it, making it the double of the actual Stone and got on with his task. It was a full hour later that Harry emerged from the chamber, golden shield still in place in case the troll had finished napping, and made his way back up to the school proper, Stone safely in his pocket.

He grabbed one of the brooms on his way through the key room, ensuring its door like each one before was firmly closed behind him. The only door that did not receive this treatment was the one that had stood between the troll and the chess board, which he promptly blasted off its hinges as soon as he reached it once more. With a last look behind him at the set of chambers that in truth had looked much bigger the first time around, Harry hopped on to the broom and up out of the trapdoor, grabbed his harp and flew away ensuring the door slammed shut on Fluffy just as his blinking eyes swivelled in his direction.

Back on his own two feet, Harry shrunk the broomstick and placed it in his pocket, planning on donating it anonymously to the set of school brooms languishing in the broom shed at a later date. Giggling madly, he raced back to the Slytherin common room, felling truly sly and snake-like for the first time since his re-sorting.

That smugness lasted him all the way through the corridors and secret passageways, right until the portrait swung shut behind him and he slumped down against it, eyes closed to block out the images he had been having of Snape of McGonagall turning around a corner and catching him, still chortling. At the exact moment he let his guard down and finally allowed himself to relax enough to open his eyes – only to find himself face to face with an _extremely_ irritated face who spoke in icy tones;

"And just where the hell have you been?"


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

 _Back to the Present_

Before the anger and – Harry was sorry to see it – sadness could coalesce into a really terrific sneer, Harry had reached up and keyed in the time and date for the future/present. He had decided a while ago that the key to his eventual success would be checking in with the 'future', seeing how much, if anything, he had managed to change by his actions. He would like to think at this juncture (having obtained the Stone around nine months earlier than in the original timeline and without any other student or teacher being aware that he even knew the Stone existed) that quite a bit would have changed.

He was after all, in Slytherin. He was after all, friends with Draco Malfoy. He was after all, fairly sure that he would be able to obtain and destroy all of the Horcruxes bar Tom Riddle's diary by the end of the school year. He felt that it was fairly certain that he was in for a treat upon his return to the future. And if his past self was left to deal with a rather angry (but still rather intimidating for an eleven-year old) Draco Malfoy back in the Slytherin Common room, that wasn't really his problem was it?

With a distant 'Pop!' Harry Potter returned to his body in the present.

The bricks leading to Diagon Alley were mercifully still and no one was loitering in the courtyard with Harry. It felt odd then, to be back in his body and feeling a little bit tipsy from the Firewhisky he had consumed before his departure to the past. Mildly disconcerted, Harry took around three steps towards the entrance to the pub before the memories crashed in on him. At first, it was just what he had experienced during his time in the past; his sorting, his time swaying the Slytherins and his tentative steps towards friendship with Ron, Hermione and Draco. But then, new memories of years and years of his life that he had no recollection of ever having actually experienced began to flow through his mind.

Hiding the Stone from Draco, losing the fragile friendship they had begun to build, animosity growing, Ron losing interest in him, Hermione becoming consumed by her studies, then quicker as the years sped by; Pettigrew escaping early, Quirrell fleeing when he realised the Stone was gone, Voldemort returning to strength as stolen unicorn blood slowly restored his body, a Basilisk roaming free, Hermione's vacant expression before a cloth was drawn over her face, Sirius receiving the Kiss due to a whisper in the Minister's ear by a strange, charismatic man who had recently been appointed to the Wizengamot, Voldemort declaring his return publicly by draining the blood from Fudge using only his wand, trying to persuade Draco and the other Slytherins to side with him and failing in the face of their sneering certainty that Harry was on the losing side, bodies lining the corridors of Hogwarts after all Death Eaters freed from Azkaban, Harry realizing that this time he was losing, Draco standing beside his father in the Ministry, dutifully doing the bidding of the Dark Lord once more, muggles cowering in fear as their government is overthrown and they are terrorized by things they cannot see, the muggle army becoming involved and destroying many, many magical lives, Harry and Dumbledore searching for Horcruxes, but never finding them all. Dumbledore succumbing to the curse that had threatened to claim him in the first timeline without sharing all of his knowledge with Harry.

Voldemort being blasted to bits by a tank, Harry believing that his fight was over. He knows now that it is far from finished.

His thoughts were a mess. The first problem he dealt with was the content of the memories he had just witnessed; the present he had returned to was so much worse than the one he had felt discontented with before this whole mess began – his meddling had altered things in a way that was completely unforeseeable. What other damage had he done that he wasn't aware of? What problems had he caused in the _future_? That was something he would never know – how his actions in the past would affect what would happen beyond his own experience and age. The Unspeakables had assured him that not much would be different in the grand scheme of things, and really he supposed they were right when you considered the entire planet but still… this was unacceptable.

The second problem he turned to was the fact that he had received these memories at all. The first time he had returned to his past and changed something minor, no flood of memories had crashed over him on his return to the present. Was that because he had changed so little that no new memories had been awarded to him? Probably, he thought and put that problem to rest. He had more than enough tangible things to worry about without coming up with problems on his own, such as the fact that Voldemort was not completely destroyed in this present and could potentially return at any time.

His feet had continued to carry him towards the Leaky's back entrance while he was attempting to come to terms with all he had wrought by so few actions and inactions in his youth. His eyes automatically turned to where Draco had been sitting on his last visit to the pub (one part of his brain reminding him that technically this was the same visit, and another part of his brain telling the first part to shut up because he was feeling dizzy due to that particular train of thought) and found the table empty.

A final memory swam to the forefront of his brain and he remembered that Draco had been Kissed after the muggle army's supposed defeat of Voldemort, due to his extreme support of the Dark Lord and actions to that end. There was no tempering of his devotion to Voldemort in this timeline – no regret, no mercy. Harry had created the perfect scenario in which Draco could only ever fail. He felt sick with himself for ever feeling optimistic about this present.

There was no decision to be made – he had to go back. His plan was a good one, but his past self couldn't be relied upon to carry it out; he simply didn't have the knowledge needed to carry it out. He would live through his entire life again if necessary, if it meant preventing those horrible events he had just witnessed.

As he reached for the Consh an irate voice screeched at him from the doorway to the Leaky;

" _Potter! So you finally decided to face me did you? Avada Ke-"_

….

'Pop!'

"And just where the hell have you been?"

Harry didn't think he had ever in his life been happier to hear the petulant voice of a pre-adolescent Draco Malfoy. Not stopping to think about it, he did the only think that felt right in that instance – he flung himself forward around hugged Draco Malfoy. Hard.

The blonde boy immediately tensed and held both of his arms close to his sides. Harry didn't care that his embrace wasn't being returned – it felt good regardless. The simple closeness of someone he had just 'witnessed' lying cold and sightless on the receiving end of the Dementor's Kiss, the knowledge that he could prevent it, the pleasure of freaking the other boy out completely. Harry sighed in contentment, and let the poor boy go.

"I, Draco my friend, have been on an adventure."

"And you didn't take me along with you?"

"I'm sorry Draco, I couldn't risk it."

Draco's brow darkened at the implication.

"I don't mean that I couldn't trust you, you plonker! I meant that it was entirely likely that you would get hurt and/or die and it would have been my responsibility. And I don't want you to get hurt. Obviously." Harry giggled internally at that – it wouldn't have been obvious at all to the Draco of his original timeline.

Draco looked somewhat mollified at his explanation, but still looked like he could use a good cheering up. Luckily, Harry had just the thing.

"I brought you back a present. Want to see?"

"Well," drawled Draco, The Plonker, "naturally. A Malfoy never refuses a gift."

Harry grinned broadly before reaching into his pocket and retrieving the Stone. There was no conceivable way he was going to ignore the glimpse into the 'present' he had received – the very first mistake he had made was not trusting Draco with this.

Stone in hand, winking brightly in the common room's flickering green light, Harry met Draco's gaze and murmured, "Do you know what this is?"

To say that Draco was gob-smacked at that moment would have been comparable to saying that Voldemort was misguided. To say that gob-smacked was an understatement, was in itself an understatement. His jaw fell wide, and his eyes did too. His breathing hitched and his slim fingers slowly reached out to touch the Stone before he stopped, hesitating and looked for reassurance in Harry's happy observation.

"It's okay, take it. Although you can't keep it – I can't either forever, this is only temporary. I wanted to know however if… Draco, would you study it for me?"

Draco didn't answer for a moment, seemingly entranced by the Stone which still lay in Harry's overturned palm. Then, "Why?"

Harry wasn't sure if he meant 'why study it?' or 'why me?', so he answered both.

"I want you to study it because one, it will make you happy and two, because I had to steal it tonight to keep it safe, and I know it will be safe with you. I had to steal it because…" At this point, Harry remembered the pain and death that had reigned in his future memories – they had all hung on this one seemingly insignificant moment. "Because, someone else was going to. That person would have killed both of us eventually – not because you are my friend or because either of us is important in any way to him, but because he is stone cold crazy, and anyone is fair game in his quest for power. Particularly two clever Slytherins with the potential to gather enough know-how to bring him down." Harry grinned what he hoped was a cheeky grin at this point – in his mind's eye he saw an adult Draco slumped in a cell, his eyes unfocused and his limbs even thinner than they were now.

Draco reached the rest of the way for the Stone and took it lightly in his fingertips.

"This is honestly the most incredible thing that anyone has ever done for me… ever! Thank you Harry." The wonder in his face gave way to wild happiness and excitement. Harry felt something in his chest that he wasn't familiar with; it felt almost like a completeness. As Draco returned to scrutinising the Stone, the feeling dissipated and Harry felt somewhat bereft. He quickly forgot his source-less disappointment however as Draco ran to his chest and withdrew the sheaf of parchments Harry had seen previously.

"So you'll study it for me? And tell me what you find out?"

"I will Harry. I can't honestly think of anything I would rather do. You know how I feel about alchemy – this is a dream come true…" He trailed off. Draco's cheek's tinged pink and like the Slytherin he was, he seemed to realise he had been rather forthcoming with his feelings – wariness entered his countenance and Harry rushed to reassure the skittish boy.

"It's okay Draco – I owed you for leaving you behind earlier. You missed out on an adventure after all – the least I can do it provide you with appropriate recompense." Harry stated all of this rather pompously, with the air of someone speaking absolute truth and sense. Draco brightened.

"That is true… I accept your reparations Potter." The thousand-watt grin was firmly back in place now and Draco began to feverishly leaf through his papers, looking for a place to begin. Harry left him to it, content for now to curl up next to him on the couch and try to get some sleep before the morning sunlight began filtering its way down through depths of the Great Lake, down into the common room.

It wasn't much, this small change he had made upon his return to the past. But for now it was enough, he thought sleepily just before sleep took him and he knew no more.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with the story this far. I'm nowhere near finished with this and I'm sorry about the slow build for Harry/Draco. They'll get there in the end, I promise. It's not my fault Harry's a bit slow! *shifty eyes*

Because this is my first real attempt at fanfic, I still have a lot to learn. If anyone has any feedback on my writing/style/story direction I will gladly hear it in the commentsJ.

Also, I know that ponderance isn't a word, but it really should be. So now it is.

CHAPTER NINE

 _The Rat Trap and the Seeker_

What he really needed, Harry decided over a healthy helping of bacon the next day at breakfast, was a Rat Trap.

The problem with a rat trap however, was that he would need to remove Pettigrew from the trap to prove he was who he said he was. And the little bastard had prior when it came to making seemingly impossible getaways. Although he had owed Harry his life and had died for him in the last timeline, that wasn't the case here and now. It was no stretch of his imagination to wonder if the very fact that was going to make an attempt on Pettigrew's freedom was going to enable the rat to escape. Harry had watched enough sci-fi and fantasy in his time with the Dursleys (mostly through the bannister or the crack in his cupboard door if he was being really honest with himself) and had dealt with more than enough prophecy to be concerned about self-fulfilment. Would attempting to apprehend Pettigrew allow him to escape early, just as he had seen on his trip to the present?

Playing idly with the last of his eggs, Harry decided he couldn't afford to second guess himself. There had been enough of that on his God awful trip around England in that cat-soaked tent with Hermione and Ron. He had the Consh. That was enough.

The trap then, had to able to trap both a rat and a fully grown wizard, without alloying a rat to escape or a wizard to die mangled by a too-small cage. It also couldn't be a large opaque box, as that would necessitate removing the rat before a transformation. He could stun the rat before removing it of course, but how long his stunners would last was up for debate – an unnecessary worry.

Hmmm. What he really, _really_ needed of course, was Hermione.

He had spent some time studying quietly with Hermione of course, but they weren't really as close as he would have liked. It was a Tuesday, which meant that he would be able to spend his evening with Hermione without worrying too much about people overhearing their conversation. Decisively swallowing the rapidly cooling eggs, Harry felt happier for having a bit of a plan.

Draco sidled up to him and pinched his arm hard, before punching it too.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"First of the month Potter, its tradition," A sly grin was painted on his still pointy features. Harry knew they would broaden and mature in time, though why such a though would come over him at breakfast was a ponderance for another day. "Didn't you know?"

"I thought that was just a muggle thing!"

"Well… they must have gotten it from us Potter! The Malfoy family would never adopt a muggle superstition you know." Nose held high, Harry followed him to their first lesson, chuckling in the proud boy's wake.

…

"Hey Hermione."

"Hi Harry, what are we studying tonight?"

"Well… I wanted to pick your brains a bit actually if you don't mind. It's not something for school strictly, it's more… extra-curricular."

Hermione waited, one eyebrow raised for Harry to explain himself.

"I want to make it clear right now that my little project will not be used to harm anyone in any way, shape or form. It is specifically for scientific use and for the betterment of society as a whole." Hermione's expression shifted rapidly from disbelief, to rampant curiosity, to worry and back to disbelief as Harry rushed through this explanation. It was clear to her that he had practised this little speech rather a lot. She smiled – rather smugly it has to be said – inwardly at the inference that he needed her quite badly for this… project.

"Alright. Let's say I believe that for a second, and this is not just some rather devious setup for a heinous prank on one of our fellow pupils," Hermione paused here to let Harry get this frantic head shaking and placation out of his system, "what is it, exactly mind you, you want my help with?"

"Well it's like this…"

…

Hermione really was a veritable treasure trove of information, even at eleven. Harry was so impressed that he forgot that they weren't really friends yet and gave her a huge hug when she was finished explaining her idea to him.

Despite her surprise, she seemed quite pleased as she trundled out of the library and on to her actual homework in the Ravenclaw common room. Harry had been surprised himself at the readiness with which Hermione had acquiesced – he was much more used to a Hermione at age eleven who was bent on following the rules and submitting to authority. He had asked her about it in a roundabout way and her only reply had been, "There is more to life than studying Harry, you should know that." To say that Harry had been disconcerted by this response was yet another massive understatement.

He could only surmise that being surrounded by people whose obsession with studying outshone even Hermione's had shown her what it would really be like to commit herself fully to the academic life, and she had discovered that she wanted more. Harry was more than happy to fan that flame.

Harry set about gathering the materials he would need for the project, and the books Hermione had recommended for the work. Rather than take the inordinate amount of time it would normally require, Harry had decided to take the Consh shaped shortcut. He would still be putting in all of the work of course, but it would take place all over the course of one night – that night – with him tying the project to himself in the way he had with The List, and returning to the beginning of the evening each time dawn approached.

His workstation would of course be the Room of Requirement. Where else would provide him with a workspace AND a bed, without the need to erect troublesome wards to keep away nosy Slytherins and Gryffindors?

Opposite the Room, his back pressed against the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his pirouetting trolls, Harry fought to control his breathing. His heart pounding, his head swimming, Harry was caught in the middle of an unrelenting flashback of the last time he had visited the seventh floor of Hogwarts.

 _Stinging, foul smoke in his eyes. Terror gripping his very soul. A pitiful cry from the top of a crumbling stack of ancient rubbish. A sudden, veracious conviction to save him. Draco's arms around him as they swerved around licking flames and explosive monsters. Potent relief._

As his mind followed his wavering broom through the doors of the Room, shutting the hideous Fiendfyre away forever, Harry returned to himself. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe, he repeated again and again in his mind while a small voice at the back whispered, _he is safe_.

Gathering his bravery – he was as much a Gryffindor as a Slytherin after all – Harry paced three times in front of the blank wall before going inside. It was going to be a _very_ long night.

…

Long didn't really cover it, Harry thought has he trudged down to breakfast. He had of course slept every other return via the Consh – he didn't want to become exhausted and ruin his plans after all – but it had taken rather longer than he had expected. All told, he had spent thirty nights in the Room of Requirement, the Room being specifically set up so as not to remind Harry in any way of the Room of Hidden Things, and while his body was perfectly rested, his mind was not. It was disconcerting to repeatedly find that if he was feeling peckish just as the sun was creeping above the horizon through the windows the Room had kindly provided, once he had popped back to the beginning of the evening he was completely full of chicken, potatoes and treacle tart once more. The same went for his urgent need to dash to a bathroom each morning at six am.

Shaking off a shudder at the thought of ever doing anything like that again, Harry continued down to the Great Hall, his project stored safely in his satchel. It would be worth it in the end, he supposed. Wednesday mornings were a good time to be alive in Hogwarts. Everyone's favourite breakfast food were provided, Harry was still not sure how the House Elves knew every pupils' preferences, and the post owls usually put on a bit of a display before delivering their packages and post.

It was at times like this, that Harry really remembered why he was doing all of this. Hogwarts in his timeline had never really recovered its sense of whimsy, its spirit, after Dumbledore had died and the castle had been submitted to the tyranny of the Carrows. He was certain that it would return in time, but that wasn't good enough – it wouldn't be lost at all this time.

Now that the rat trap was prepared, Harry had to wait once again for the delivery of his Cloak. That was, he would have to wait unless he could come up with a different plan of course. Deciding to do just that, his eyes came to rest on Ron Weasley, his red hair flaming in the morning sunshine which flooded in through the actual windows and through the enchanted ceiling. That might work, he thought and let out a rather evil cackle.

Worried that his outburst would attract unwanted attention, Harry took a quick glance around at his house mates. No one batted an eyelid. Harry supposed plotting and cackles were par for the course in Slytherin, and indulged in another cackle for good measure.

Full of black pudding and tattie scones, Harry scurried over to the Gryffindor table before Ron could leave. He was sat tucking into his own breakfast with Neville, Dean and Seamus. Perfect.

"Hey Ron."

"Err, hi Harry," Ron looked rather nervously at his bench mates – he was clearly uncomfortable with the fact that a Slytherin had approached him in their view, "what's up?"

"I was hoping you'd join me this evening for a bit of Quidditch. I hear you're quite the flyer."

Ron puffed up a bit at this before his face fell somewhat into an expression of doubt and suspicion. He replied, "Well, I suppose. You ever played before?"

"Nope!" This seemed to assuage Ron's doubts at being out-flown by the great Harry Potter and he agreed.

"Anyone else fancy a fly? I know the school brooms aren't up to much but it's just a bit of fun."

Dean and Seamus agreed readily enough. They weren't so bothered that Harry was in Slytherin; Dean hadn't arrived with any preconceptions about Hogwarts' houses, having grown up believing himself to be a muggle and having no knowledge of the wizarding world, the same as Harry. Seamus was unsure at first, but was ready to follow Dean where he led.

Neville was much harder to persuade. Harry could understand why of course. Neville was not the greatest flyer, although Harry had been able to prevent Neville's injury this time around by casting a silent calming charm on him before the lesson had begun. Harry had also managed to prevent the taunting Neville would have suffered during the flying lesson by the simple act of poking Draco rather hard in the ribs before his teasing of Neville could get out of hand. Draco had been a bit peeved with him until Harry had distracted him with more plans for testing the Philosopher's Stone.

"I, I'm not sure Harry. I think you'd all have more fun without worrying about me." Neville looked so miserable at this pronouncement that Harry had refused to take no for an answer, shouting his fears down until he had agreed to give flying another go.

"Excellent. Shall we all meet at the pitch at six o'clock?"

A general murmur of agreement went up, and Harry left for Potions with a spring in his step and a satisfied smirk on his face.

…

It happened after about half an hour. The boys had been flying around the pitch, throwing a quaffle to one another and having races over the length of the pitch when suddenly Neville, who had started out jumpy and frightened of the entire situation but had grown in confidence with Harry's encouragement, was hit by an errant shot from Seamus. Harry saw his scared white face gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –

Harry shot forward and down, racing to beat Neville to the ground. He had been holding back on his flying talent earlier, not wanting to overshadow the other boys' efforts; they didn't have his years of practice after all.

In a break-neck dive towards where Neville was falling, Harry urged his broom to go faster before catching Neville in a silent levitation charm and carrying him in his arms to the ground. Setting him gently on his feet, Harry asked,

"You alright Neville?"

"Neville I'm so sorry! I'm an eejit! God if Harry hadn't…" Seamus was beside himself, his eyes taking in the pale and shaking form of Neville Longbottom as the others quickly joined them on the grass.

Ron looked a bit put out for some reason. Harry shrugged it off though, making sure Neville was okay was definitely the priority in this situation.

"I, I'm okay I think," he turned to Harry and murmured, "Thanks for saving me Harry."

"You wouldn't have needed saving in the first place if Harry hadn't forced you to fly!" So that was the source of Ron's mysterious fume. The other boys turned to look at Ron in either confusion or incredulity, depending on which boy you were looking at.

"It wasn't Harry's fault Ron, he was helping me get better. It's my own fault…" Poor Neville trailed off, his face growing red under the scrutiny.

"It definitely wasn't your fault Neville. I'm sorry if I pressured you earlier, but if you ever want to try again I'll be more than happy to teach you. One-on-one you know? No quaffles the next time!" Harry shot him what he hoped was a reassuring grin, while Ron huffed and started tramping back up to the castle.

At this moment, Snape appeared from the shadows of one of the stands. Well, thought Harry, at least this time he couldn't be expelled for his heroic deeds on a broomstick.

"Mr Potter. Was that your first time on a broom outside of your lesson with Madam Hooch?" Nod, "Would you kindly – sneer – follow me to the castle?"

Neville, Seamus and Dean looked mortified at the possibility that Harry might somehow be in trouble for his actions and quickly clamoured to tell the professor what had actually happened, being careful to shout loudly about how Harry was a hero. Harry tried to frantically mime to them to shut the hell up; having his heroism paraded in front of Snape was not a good way to stay on his good side. If he had a good side that is – Harry wasn't entirely convinced that he did, despite his own acts of heroism in the original timeline.

"Mr Potter, with me now. We will not be needing your… _fan-club_ to join us."

Harry trudged alongside the professor, wondering all the while how he managed to get the sleeves of his robes to billow like that; there wasn't even a breeze! At last they reached the Slytherin common room and both entered, coming to a stop in front of a heavyset sixth year, who Harry vaguely recognised from his first time around.

"Flint. I have found you a seeker."

Flint's expression grew slightly less murderous, though not by much.

"He's a first year professor, how can he…?" Flint trailed off at the sight of Snape's ever-ready sneer creeping up his face.

"Mr Potter has shown himself to be quite proficient on a broomstick. Though he would not be my first choice for the position, recent, _ah_ , circumstances have forced me to compromise," they both turned their heads to look at Terence Higgs, whose green-tinged visage was indicative of someone in the throes of recovering from Dragon Pox, "and with no other ready alternative, Potter will have to do."

"And you, Mr Potter. I have become accustomed to having the Quidditch cup in my office. I do not expect to lose sight of it anytime soon. Be sure that you - double sneer - do your all to make certain I am not disappointed. Have I made myself clear?"

And so it came to pass, for the second time in Harry's life, that he was recruited as a first year into a Hogwarts' House Quidditch team. As he settled down for the night, he thought he knew what had upset Ron earlier. Ron had a nasty streak of jealousy when wanted to, and Harry assumed he had been chagrined to find Harry willing and more than able to save Neville. With a sigh he turned out his lamp, rolled over and tried to get to sleep. With a grimace, Harry reflected that his new position as Seeker was unlikely to help.


End file.
